


Interlude

by DixieDale



Series: The Life and Times of One Peter Newkirk [3]
Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 23:14:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14658231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: A trap set for one of the Clan leads a disguised Caeide on an unexpected visit to Stalag 13.  How long before Newkirk recognizes her and how will he react?  And what about the rest of the crew?  If that isn't enough to occupy their minds, a killer is on the loose and a villain threatens the camp.





	1. The Trap

Reagana didn't like it. Something was wrong, it made no sense, and she had no intention of stepping into what was obviously a trap. Question was, of course, what kind of a trap was it, and why? Was it for her, personally, or for her as a Clanswoman, for her as an operative? There was always the quandry when something like this happened. Do you sidestep and run like hell, or do you try to find out what the heck is going on? She'd thought to do the first, but then, they said something that caught her attention, words, a place, that she remembered from the Watch List. 'Stalag 13, Hammelburg, Germany'. No, she couldn't just avoid this, this could be important, so she agreed to at least listen to them, and when they had finished, she knew what she had to do.

"Very well, I understand how important it is, though I still don't understand why I'm your first choice. I just got back from an assignment; we don't usually take two right in a row, you know. But, alright, I'll do it, but I can't leave for twenty-four hours." When they protested, she snarled at them, "That's the best I can do, gentlemen, take it or leave it; I've things to get done, I haven't had sleep in days, I'm filthy, and I will take twenty-four hours to get myself back together!" When they offered, insisted she come with them and spend her twenty-four hours at HQ, she snarled again, "And a fine help that'd be! No, I'll spend them here, in my own flat, with my own things, my own clothes, in my own bed. I'll be available to HQ in twenty-four hours for a final briefing, but for now, gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to leave so I can get rid of some of this dirt!!"

They left, grumbling, and she watched from the window as they got in their car and left; she smiled grimly as she noted the guards they had left, not in uniform, no, but she recognized them for what they were. She expected there would be others at the rear of the building; thankfully, those were not the only ways in and out of the building. She flipped the security latches, and made her way to the concealed pocket door leading to the adjoining flat, through that to the next flat where the radio was concealed in a wall panel. Thinking over what she had to report, she sat down and put out the Call. No, she wasn't walking into this trap, but she had a good idea someone was, and she was pretty sure who that would be. Twenty-four hours would be cutting it close, but it could be done.

***  
DC in Charge of Operations listened to what Reagana had to say, listened with great interest. So many possibilities, so little information. Still, if it could be done, she agreed there was one person who could do it, one person who had the special knowledge that would let it happen. One fast call, one surprised but eager response, and things were set in motion. The small plane left for Haven immediately, carrying three family members who'd spent enough time at Haven, had enough experience to at least keep the stock taken care of, keep the place going during Caeide's absence; that same small plane would carry Caeide to the outskirts of London, where she'd be whisked to a building a couple of blocks away from Reagana, there to make her way through the special tunnels and passageways to the safehouse, to her flat.

They were at twenty hours and counting when the cousins met again, over coffee at the kitchen table. Caeide had spent the plane trip and the car ride reviewing the reports from Reagana's missions; she'd have to have this stuff memorized in order to pass, if anyone questioned her. She'd brought basic clothes, the type the DC had suggested, the usual quick-change items, special makeup, a couple of specialty items that she'd most likely not need, but knew to have on hand just in case; for the rest, she could use what was available at the flat.

"So you knew it was a trap. Talk to me, tell me everything," Caeide asked over her coffee. She was tired, the call had come in at the end of a long hard day's work at the farm, she'd spent the intervening hours getting ready, passing over the reins to her cousins, traveling, studying, but looking at Reagana; she figured that was all to the good, since frankly Reagana looked like hell! She made a note to use the actors' makeup to minic that bruise on her cheek, and to remember to wrap her left wrist as well. Now, though, adrenaline was pumping; now, she had to focus, they were in countdown mode.

"You know we never take two assignments back to back, by Contract; there has to be downtime in between, usually a week or more. I'd just been debriefed over this last one, left HQ and barely got in and got my pack dumped when they were at the door. I remembered being surprised, they were the same two I'd seen in the hallway on my way out of the building, full dress uniforms and all. A Major Albright, a Captain Duncan, both Americans. I usually work with the Brits, not the Yanks, sometimes Major Richards, sometimes Major Cole, but Clan tries to stay away from putting any of us in the way of the Yank military, of course. Very insistant - I was needed for this assignment, was the only one available, very hush-hush, need-to-know basis, you know, all the usual claptrap when they've made up their mind to something but don't want to explain themselves. Something about the way they interacted with each other, something about how nervous, intense they were, just told me it was trouble. I told them I'd listen, but wouldn't promise anything more, got them some coffee, dropped a little 'encouragement' into the cups and let them tell me something about the assignment."

She leaned back in her chair, and Caeide smiled and poured her another half cup of coffee, and opened the small box she'd brought with her, pulling out scones she'd made the day before; Reagana groaned with delight, and snatched up one dotted with pieces of fruit she knew had come from the orchards at Haven. "Oh, I haven't had anything like that in too long!" she sputtered around the crumbs.

"Well, their story would make a good novel, if you were interested in writing it. Agent dropped behind enemy lines to carry out urgent mission; highly specialized, of course, of the type we couldn't afford to lose, impossible to replace, yada yada yada. Ended up halfway across Germany from where he was intended to be, but that was the only way to carry out his mission; now he was making his way back to a 'Travelers Aid Society' south of Berlin, there to try and get transport back to England. Unbeknownst to him, however, there's trouble at the TAS, probably a traitor, possibly more than one, maybe the entire unit has turned. Someone has to get in, meet the Agent at the TAS, not letting the team there know there's any suspicion, not letting them know the importance of the Agent. Getting him out, using different route than the one set up by the team for security, meeting the sub waiting at the coast. Why me? Well, I trained in that area, I know the language, the people, I'm available.""Well, I could probably name off half a dozen others right in the London area that'd fit that bill just as well, but nevermind that. What struck me, other than what's their ultimate goal, is the information about the TAS - Unsung Heroes - Stalag 13, Hammelburg. I remembered from the Watch List, that's where the Professor is, isn't it? If I'm remembering him right, there's nothing going on in his area that he wouldn't be in the know about, probably mixed up in in some way, yes?"

She got a solemn nod from her cousin, "yes, if there is a possibility of trouble, that's where Peter would be; he draws trouble to him, or perhaps it draws him, you wouldn't believe some of the stories I could tell!" 

Taking a sip of her coffee, "so, a trap. One where the instructions seem to preclude asking for help from the team in place, preclude trusting them or taking them into your confidence - basically, leaving you totally on your own in enemy territory. Agent, supposedly of great importance - did they give you a name, any identification?" receiving a headshake in reply.

"Alright, we'll have to work on that. A trap, you being the most obvious target, though it's not certain whether it's you, as you, or you as Clan, or something else. I'm the obvious one to go, of course; I know Peter better than anyone else in the Clan; I can read him, should be able to get him to talk to me, I've never doubted I could trust him entirely."

She considered, nodded her head, "very well, anything else I need to know, that you can think of? Come talk to me while I get changed and ready; the clock is ticking away," and they worked to rapidly change the young farmer into a duplicate of the young agent. Like all of the women in the Clan, if you were in the same age group and had no obvious scars or impediments, you could pass as each other on the most basic level. Caeide had her cousin walk for her, do some turns, reaching for things; she'd been careful to watch her from the time she'd reached the flat, and already knew some things she'd have to adapt.

At the appointed hour, a staff car pulled up outside and the officers stepped out, "the one on the left is Albright, of course, on the right is Duncan. Duncan is the more dominant one, at first take, but Albright is the one to watch; he's sneaky, tries to catch you out, always watching out of the corner of his eye." A quick hug, "Good luck, cousin," and Reagana was out the concealed door, on her way to another safehouse.

"Good morning gentlemen," Caeide greeted the two men as she opened the door, picking up her pack.

"Let's get going, briefing in a half hour," Duncan growled at her, and she gave him a quiet smile in return, "then let's get to it, shall we?"

Reagana hurried along the passages, exiting onto the street several blocks away, then to the waiting car. If it had been anyone except Caeide, she'd have questioned that unswerving, unquestioning faith that she could trust Peter Newkirk, could gain his cooperation. Yes, the lanky Englishman had been one of Caeide's mentors during her Internship year, but a person could change a lot in the six years that had passed since then.

But then, Caeide's situation was different, Reagana knew. Her cousin had come back from that year different, not just more experienced, but somehow changed. It took a trip to the Grandmother, then to the Council before the truth became known; that somehow, a Ta'Shea bonding had taken place, Caeide Bonding to the man, but him not bonding to her in return. It was speculated that partly it was because their first meeting was when both Caeide and her Warrior aspect were both in residence, at the end of a bloody battle for survival, partly it was thought that this would not be the first time those two souls had met; Caeide had said her Warrior had seemed to recognize, accept him during that brief encounter. Then again, some things just were meant to be, and maybe nothing else was needed except that spark between two people. She knew the Grandmother had talked to Maudie, one of the other mentors during that year, and Maudie had confirmed that there was feeling on both sides, but he wasn't willing to accept that, a good part of that being her age, and, as Maudie put it, his sheer stubbornness. That was what gave Reagana confidence that, yes, Caeide would know him better than anyone else in the Clan, would be able to ascertain the truth. That was their ace in the hole in this bizarre affair, that inside knowledge. Now, to wait and see what they could discover about that Agent she was supposed to be meeting and bringing out of Germany


	2. The Con

"Damn I hate submarines! Stinky, tiny spaces, surrounded by strangers, the knowing I'm under all that water, just one torpedo from being trapped! I prefer jumping out of planes, though I'm none too fond of that, either. It's good that I'm at Haven most of the time; I'd not do too well out in the world, I'm thinking. Though, I did well enough in London that year, and on a few outside assignments, but I prefer having fewer people, less noise, and definitely, less traveling around in tin cans!"

She had been assigned a truly tiny space in the back of the infirmary; according to the first officer it was either there or the brig, the only places she could be kept separated from the men, and the captain was adamant that be the case. He wasn't used to females on his vessel and he didn't want any trouble; Caeide, going under the code name 'Clancy McLena' for now, for some reason she'd not been told by the arrogant Albright was just as glad for the privacy, though she wasn't sure there was enough air in that tiny space to keep a person conscious. She wanted to use the time to think, to go over what she knew, to remember Peter as she knew him then, to bring that in line with the changes she'd seen in his letters, now that they were corresponding again. It shouldn't be long now, she figured another hour and a half they'd be in position for her to leave this tin can and head for shore, there to start the overland journey.

By the time she was given the one-hour warning, she had her, well, her alternate persona, her interpretation of 'Clancy' in hand and was starting to change. {"Hair, tightly braided and bound, covered by that dark wig, styled in a mans cut. Breasts bound, uncomfortable, but effective. Loose fitting tunic top, just completing the effort, loose enough to contain her when it became time to remove those bindings. Pants slightly loose to further disguise my shape, slouchy in front to at least somewhat disguise my lack of a package. Gloves, my own, with the ends slit so I can use my nails if I have to. Sturdy boots, again, my own; this isn't the time to have to get used to new footware! Warm below-waist length jacket, boy's cap, both the kind you could find pretty well anywhere in Europe these days, suitably worn. My pack, with the makeup kit, emergency supplies and rations, small flashlight - yes, I think that's about it."}

She was waiting when the first officer came to collect her, and she refrained from grinning at the look on his face when he opened to door to confront this young man instead of the young woman he'd placed there.

"I gather it's time," she asked him, knowing it was, but wanting to reassure him he hadn't totally lost his mind.

"Yes, miss, I mean . . ."and he trailed off, not quite certain now which was real, which was the disguise. She chuckled deep in her throat, {"well, that's a good sign,"} and she followed him up to the tower, and carefully climbed down into the small dinghy to be taken ashore. She'd be met by a small team from the Underground there, and taken in relays to Stalag 13. By the time she got there, the team would've been notified she was coming, or rather that an operative, name of Clancy, was coming and she'd be guided in.She refused to think about the upcoming meeting, the one so many years coming; she couldn't afford to lose her focus right now, but her internal tension told her, not thinking about it didn't mean not anticipating it; seems she couldn't stop that, and she wasn't so sure she even wanted to try.

Three different checkpoints, passwords exchanged, moving along to the next, then the next, finally coming to a small clearing, hunkering down with the Underground leader who'd said his name was Klaus, waiting. Finally, a whistle, one final exchange of passwords, and two men came out of the shadows, one medium height, one very short. Klaus turned to her, "Here, they will take you the rest of the way. Good luck," and with a nod he was gone. So far her disguise had held, or at least, no one had made any indication otherwise; when the traveling had gotten rough, no one had offered to help her, had seemed to expect her to manage the steep climb down into and then out of a gully, and she'd indeed managed quite well, Haven being well populated with such terrain.

Now, she watched in surprise as a tree trunk had its top lifted and swung back; she was motioned down the steep ladder and, as she'd been directed, waited to one side at the bottom. It was dark and damp, and she was pretty sure she didn't like it down here, but put that thought aside as being irrelevant; there were a lot of things she didn't like about this mission, after all. Once the two men came down the ladder, the last one in somehow locking the entrance, a lantern was lit, and she could see the two men for the first time as individuals, rather than as shadows. The taller of the two stuck out his hand, "Hi, you must be Clancy, I'm Carter, and this here is LeBeau! Come on, we'll go on up and you can meet the rest of the guys, and I know you're supposed to talk to the Colonel, but he's probably over with the Kommandant right now, but he'll be back soon, so we can get you some coffee and let you warm up and . . ."

"Andrew, take a breath, and let the man come on in," came a familiar voice from the tunnel ahead, and her heart started pounding so hard it felt as if her body, her head was pulsing. She paused, making sure her face was under control, that her posture, her bearing were in keeping with who she was supposed to be, and she walked forward, waiting to get that first glimpse of him, her first glimpse in so many years.

Thin, much too thin, drawn as if he'd been ill for a long time, a long scar along his cheekbone that hadn't used to be there, but the eyes, oh, yes, the eyes were much the same, except for new knowledge, and not necessarily the good kind, and an increased wariness. He stepped back to let her pass, motioning her onward; his hands, those long expressive, talented fingers, yes, those were familiar. She thought he might be a bit broader at the shoulders, though that might have been her imagination, or the contrast with his gauntness elsewhere, but that long lovely neck of his, yes, that she remembered well; she remembered how it had tempted her in ways that had both amused and shocked her, never having imagined that particular part of the body to be so intriguing before. As she passed him, she heard him inhale and turn his head sharply toward her; when she glanced over out of the corner of her eye, she saw a puzzled frown on his face.

{"Surely he hasn't seen through the disguise already! It's still dark down here, with just those two lanterns. And now that I think of it, just how do I make myself known to him? I'd no expectations of maintaining the Clancy persona for this whole mission, of course, but hadn't thought out what might be the best time, the best way to reveal myself."} She gave an impatient shrug, {"well, that's not something I could have known in advance anyway, too much depends on what I find here, doesn't it!"}

Still, she thought back to that night at The Bull, when he'd seen through her disguise within seconds, {"it might not be a case of me deciding, but more a case of his realizing,"} she thought ruefully.

On through the maze of tunnels, to another ladder, and suddenly movement above her, and a rectangle of light, and she was motioned upward, to crawl over the edge of the rim and into a raw wooden barracks. She looked around; a harsh, barren place to live she thought, cold now even with a fire in the woodburning stove, even though the temperatures weren't too terribly cold outside. She imagined it would be miserable during the deep of winter, and probably equally as miserable during the summer's heat. She felt the strongest urge to just gather them all up, take them back along the route she had come, take them back to Haven with her, to safety, to shelter. She had a better idea just how much he'd left unsaid in his letters.

A seat at a long table, on a rough wooden bench, a cup of weak coffee and the others gathered around her, talking in low voices, the door opening and a large German soldier coming through, "it is cold out there! Perhaps I could get a cup of coffee from my little friend LeBeau?" and she stiffened slightly, only to have Carter bump his shoulder against hers in reassurance.

"Sure, Schultzie, I'll get it for you," the diminuative Frenchman spoke up, moving to the stove and to the stack of metal cups in a box beside it. {"So this is Schultz, and for that matter, LeBeau - Louie, Carter, that's Andrew - Kinch, or James. The barracks holds more, but Carter said they were playing cards in another barracks for another hour or so, just because of this meeting. That just leaves Colonel Hogan, the leader of this stalwart group."} Schultze made small talk for a little while, but then they urged him outward, reminding him the Kommandant would be looking for him to escort the Colonel back after their meeting. Grumbling, he retrieved his rifle from the wall by Carter's bunk where he'd propped it, and left. The men chuckled, and shook their heads.

"At least this time he remembered to take the rifle with him, instead of having to come back for it," Kinch said.

"Isn't he afraid one of you will get it, use it against him?" she asked in her Clancy voice.

"Well, unless we used it to club 'im over the 'ead, it wouldn't do us any good; 'e never remembers to load it anyway. See, ole Schultzie, 'e's never really gotten the grasp of which side 'e's really on, thank 'eaven," Newkirk chuckled again, but again looking at her closely even while trying not to show he was doing it. {"I know 'im, but from where? Familiar as me own name, except for not knowing exactly who, if that makes any sense, which it doesn't. Blimey, I'm starting to think in circles like Andrew now!"} Newkirk told himself in disgust. It wasn't like him to forget someone like that though, not when every instinct was telling him this was someone he couldn't have forgotten. By then the Colonel had gotten back, introductions were finished, and Clancy was laying out her cover story, pretty much the mission as she'd been given it, leaving out the part about their operation being compromised; she'd hold off on that for just a bit, til she had a better feel, maybe until she could talk to Peter.

She almost gave it away later, when she sat watching a desultory game of gin being played, wood chips being the only stake. She knew all of his moves, and it felt so familiar watching that sweet double-dealing, the one-handed move, and she found a familiar smirk of appreciation making its way across her face; she hurridly brought herself to attention and hoped nobody had noticed. Glancing around cautiously she saw everyone focused on the play, except for the tall black man, Kinch, who was watching her quietly, with just a bit of something in his eyes, like he knew something wasn't just right, but didn't know what. A sharp man, she'd have to beware of him.

So far, everyone pretty well matched up with the brief descriptions she'd gotten from Peter's letters, and the files her brother had managed to snaffle from HQ. Hogan's file had been impressive, and obviously the high command thought well of him; it looked like, if he survived this war, he had quite a future ahead of him, at least one star waiting just as soon as he was free from this assignment. He was wary of her, which was only right; he had a lot of responsibility, the safety of his men, this camp, his mission; it wasn't likely he'd warm easily or trust easily someone just dropping in from the outside; she'd not have played it any differently, she knew.

She read lips quite well, and knew when Hogan sent Kinch below to check on her story; knew when he came back and gave the 'all clear' from London. She whispered to Carter, and he took her the back way to the latrines; she delayed til she was sure no one else was there before taking care of what she'd needed to for some time, wanting to actually whimper with the relief; she could take care of it standing up, having perfected that at Haven when that was the only opportunity, but the shadows could give her away.

Thankfully, Carter had waited outside to give Clancy some privacy, though he'd kept up a running whispered conversation the whole time; she thought back to Peter's letters and laughed to herself; yes, he'd described Carter well, and that tone of affection in his letters, yes, that was real too, she could see it back there in the barracks. Peter made out like the younger man was most annoying, but she could see the amused warmth under the irritation, and she could see Carter knew that as well, and she was glad he had someone here he liked so well. The liking for the others, too, that was easy to see, and the respect he had for their commanding officer. Yes, she could see this being a good team; the files indicated the skills were there, and all that would be needed to make it work would be a firm connection, which was obviously there. She caught just a hint of something more between Peter and the Colonel; well, both were attractive, engaging men; that made sense too, but there was something she just couldn't quite interpret.

She shrugged mentally; it was unlikely she'd be able to pick up on all the nuances so quickly anyway. She was tucked away in a small room dug into the side of one of the tunnels, furnished with cots, used for those they helped escape LeBeau had told her. She wouldn't sleep well here, she knew; the knowledge of being below ground was too intense, and she felt a headache coming on. Even in London, when they'd have to make use of one of the underground passages, she'd been affected, always getting through it by knowing there was no other choice, but always greatly relieved when that portion of whatever they were doing was over. She huddled in the corner, concentrated on her breathing, and waited for the morning.

A movement at the entrance had her on alert, ready to move if necessary to defend herself, when a gentle voice, "I forgot, we're so used to the tunnels anymore, I forgot how it was in the beginning for me. Here's a lantern, I'll just turn it on real low and sit it over here, is that okay?" If it hadn't been for maintaining her disguise, Caeide would have gone to hug Andrew Carter; as it was, she said quietly, in that Clancy voice, "Thanks, Carter; yeah, it was getting to me a bit," and once the shadowy figure moved away, she settled down to at least doze the night away. She was surprised to hear voices, and to realize she'd actually gotten some sleep, thanks to Andrew. Another trip to the latrine, a plate of small portion but rather amazing quality came as breakfast, and she was once again around the table watching a poker game in action. It was snowing, and everyone was confined to the barracks; even the guards weren't moving so it felt reasonably secure.

Maybe she'd relaxed a bit too much, maybe she'd become too interested in watching the interplay, maybe she'd become lost in the being near him again, but it was when Andrew started questioning LeBeau about what that joke really meant, that he didn't understand the punchline, that she gave it away.


	3. Discovery!

She hadn't intended too, but she had been watching them all through her lashes, Peter included, Peter especially, and hearing Carter stumble through one of the most convoluted ways of saying 'but what the heck does it MEAN??' she'd ever heard, and through her lashes watching Peter roll his eyes and responding, in mock disgust, "Louie, if you 'ave to explain that to 'im, it kinda ruins the ole point to the story, don't it??", that she felt the grin cross her face, and the chuckle leave her throat, and she saw his head snap up, his eyes widen in shock.

She didn't look up, kept her gaze slightly to his left, thinking maybe he'd just put it down to a trick of the mind, but when she finally looked up, found his eyes, stern, knowing, looking straight at her, his lips pursed and the look on his face, oh, it was like stepping back in time, and she couldn't look away, wanted to imprint that look, that face in her memory for all time. She could almost hear his voice in her mind, asking her that question that had become so familiar that year, "Now just WHAT the 'ELL have you been up to?!"

Everyone had caught on that something was up, the room had gone quiet, everyone just watching Peter. Well, of course, Andrew started to say something, but a quick thump on his forearm from LeBeau made him stop. Hogan was at the door to his office, frowning, waiting, started to open his mouth to demand an explanation, but was forestalled when the Brit beat him to it.

Newkirk took a long drag at his cigarette, shook his head, heaved a deep sigh and handed it over to her, reverse-cupped in his hand, like he'd always done before. "Should I even ask what the bloody 'ell you think you're doing 'ere??!"

Amused, she thought to herself, {"well, guess that was close enough!"} She thought she should probably answer him before he lost his temper, though that would have made it seem even more like the old days, she told herself ruefully.

She took an equally long drag off the cigarette, relishing the thought that his lips had been where hers were now, {"and how lame is that??"} returned it to him, and in her own voice, seeing the startled looks on the others out of the corner of her eyes, "pretty much what I told you all earlier, with a few holdouts, of course."

"Chief among those being just who you really are, Brat?" {"Boy, does that take me back!"}

She smirked at him, "Actually, that's only about half, maybe considerably less."

They were brought back to the present with a sharp, "want to tell me what's going on, Corporal?" the formality letting Newkirk know Hogan really meant business. He heaved another deep sigh, {"don't think 'e's gonna like this, not one little bit. Well then, neither do I, but that's for different reasons than 'e'll 'ave!"}

He got up from the bench, motioned her over to him, looking her up and down. He got just a little bit of a strange look on his face, and gently pushed her up against the wall, easing one hand toward her front, then frowning, and drew his hand back, motioned to her, letting her know she was to release the bindings. He was blocking her from view of the others, and she did so, noting his eyes were closed, though his lower lip was caught between his teeth. {"Oh, Peter, I hope one of these days to be doing this when you actually have your eyes open!"} she thought ruefully.

She chuckled at him, and he cautiously opened his eyes, to see her grinning at him, shaking her head. {"No, I do NOT want to know what she's thinking to make 'er grin like that!"} He took her cap with one hand, reaching up to tug off the close-fitting wig with the other, stepped aside, leaving her in full view of the room full of wide-eyed men. He motioned toward her, "gentlemen, may I 'ave the 'onor of introducting you to the Brat, otherwise known as Caeide O'Donnell, though what the 'ell she's doing 'ere, I'm still waiting to 'ear." A quick glance around the room showed astonishment, shock, a bit of amusement, and a surprisingly nasty look from the commander.

"I assume you have a good explanation for this, Miss O'Donnell, or were you just in the mood for a little slumming?" came from his direction, garnering him some surprised looks of his own. {"No, this one isn't inclined to like me, and I'd not think I've been here long enough for that to have happened; usually someone has to be around me much longer to dislike me that much,"} she though to herself with a good bit of curiosity.

Bringing out her own cigarettes and matches, sharing them around the table, she filled the command team and its leader in on the first missing piece of her story - what they'd been told about the TAS going bad, success rate down, too many flyers being caught after leaving here, only to be told, as she'd suspected, that that just wasn't true; yes, there'd been a few recaptured, but that was always a risk, but nothing that pointed to any leaks, any betrayals. She added what she'd been instructed to do, give them partial information only, take off on a different course to the sub rendezvous once she had the agent in hand.

She paused then, looking off to the side, making a particular hand motion and a slight click of the tongue, as if in thought; she was answered by a quick, "no, it's good; they're good china, they are; no problems 'ere, Brat; give us the rest of it," and she smiled over at his understanding; she didn't miss the tightened jaw and frown on his commander either. Then, she looked more closely, her own eyes widened, and she saw, she knew and understood, and also knew that Hogan wasn't liking someone from Peter's past showing up, someone he might feel was in competition with him, and she knew, instinctively, to be cautious around this man, that he might pose a danger to her that she couldn't have anticipated. She'd keep that in mind, she would.

Bringing her mind back to the present, she gave them the last piece, that the Clan thought the whole mission was a setup. That her cousin Reagana was the one supposed to be on this mission; that the Clan had sent Caeide instead.

"Why" came out harshly from Peter.

She smiled over at him, wryly. "Well, if Reagana was the target, she's the best capable of figuring out just 'why', indeed. That may mean going over her past assignments, her recent contacts, what she may have seen, may have overheard. She can't do that if she's caught in their trap, can she? Anyway, once she heard about the involvement here, about what they were saying, well, she knew I'd be the best one to figure out that part, what with having worked with you enough to get a good read on if something was really going wrong here. She knows nothing would be going on here you wouldn't have a handle on. Speaking of that, Colonel, I'd like to check in with my people, see if they've made any progress in shaking this out, if I could? I've got the frequency."

Kinch shook his head, "it's too far, we can just reach the sub as relay, and only if they're fairly close, which they aren't right now."

She dug into the waistband of her pants and the cuffs of her shirt, pulling out pieces she fit together and handed off to Kinch. "If you can attach this into your transmitter, it'll reach just fine; and it's not the sub I'll be speaking with, it's my own people, the ones researching this agent I'm supposed to be picking up, plus any other little tidbits that might make some sense out of this tangle. As it stands, there's no one on that sub I'd be inclined to trust anyway."

Hogan looked at her distantly, {"if it'll get her out of here quicker, fine!"} and nodded to Kinch. Kinch looked at the amplifier in his hand, raised his brows and asked a couple of technical questions, which she answered, he nodded, and headed to the wire room to start the installation.

Andrew was sitting there with a serious and worried frown on his face, "but one thing I don't understand," to the accompanying mutter, "then you're way a'ead of me, Andrew, I've a ole list of things I don't understand," from Peter, and a shushing from LeBeau directed at Newkirk. She smiled at the young man with the sweet smile, tipping her head, indicating he should continue.

"Well, if you're here, then who's looking after Estelle and Gracie, and the sheep and the horses, especially Angie, and well, everyone?!" She looked around to see those questions echoed in their eyes, and raised her brows at Peter, who responded a bit sheepishly, "well, we all share our letters, you see, and they got a good lot of yours all at once, seeings 'ow all of yours only caught up with me 'ere."

"I'm glad you've found them of interest, and pleased Peter has shared with you," she gave them a rich, warm grin. "And to answer you, Andrew, the same crew that picked me up for this little job, dropped off some of my cousins who've spent time at Haven before; they'll see everyone's well taken care of, you can count on that," and he grinned at her in return. {"Really, he is a bit of a dear,"} looking over at Peter, to see him shaking his head in mock exasperation, seeing also the deep fondness hidden below.

Kinch popped back up through the trap door, "Everything's in place," and they moved down below, leaving LeBeau to watch the door, to give them warning if they needed to get back topside in a hurry.


	4. The Plot Thickens

Contact was made, quite frankly to the surprise of Kinch, who hadn't thought that little piece of metal and wire would actually accomplish what she'd said it would. They had to break up the story into three transmissions, changing frequency each time, just in case the Gestapo had one of those mobile radio detection trucks in the area. In the end, all the pieces were put in place, all except for one, and an ugly story it was, too. While they still didn't know what or who Reagana had seen or heard to make her a possible target, or whether she was just a handy dupe, they now knew about the agent Caeide was to meet, and what was really in the minds of Duncan and Albright, and possibly others. One of their people had 'accessed' the file on this mission; another had accessed the file on the agent; and some leg work and a bit of persuasion had pulled it together. Since all of the transmissions had been in an old Celtic variation, none of the others understood anything of it, and Caeide sat down to explain.

"First, the agent is a specialist, an assassin; true, he would be hard to replace; he has no scruples, except that he can't be re-bought once downpayment has been made, and so far, has never missed that anyone could tell. Seems though, he'd become a bit of a problem, in that he has a hobby - girls," she said, pausing for a sip of coffee.

"Well, uh, yeah, that seems like a hobby we all kinda share," Kinch said with a puzzled look, "or at least, would like to!" he acknowledged with a rueful shake of his head.

"Hopefully, though, when you and a girl part company at the end of an evening, she's still in one piece and breathing," she said with a grimace, to the shocked faces of the men around the table. "That's not the case with this one; he likes it rough, rough and bloody. So far, seems his handlers have put up with it. Oh yes, they knew about him, just seems they figured keeping his services was worth the loss of a few girls, especially if they're from the parts of town where there wouldn't be much of an outcry for one turning up dead," looking over at Peter, him nodding, knowing the East End could easily have been one of the hunting grounds.

"Now, though, he's caused a problem for them; he picked up someone important, someone doing a bit of slumming," deliberately picking up and using Hogan's word from before, "wrong place, wrong time; an American industrialist's daughter, and there's a big to do, with demands for the man to be caught and brought up to trial. See, he'd been seen, identified, so HQ's in a bind. He'd already been sent out on a mission, and the father is ready to make everything public if they don't do something AND walk away from any deals they'd thought to make with him, and they need him, his steelworks, his manufacturing plants for the war effort, so they have to make a good show, but they're really hating to lose this most valuable 'agent', and they know if he gets wind of what's up, he'll take off so they lose both their assassin and their rich industrialist. But, if he comes back on his own, not under control, not where they can rig a good story for him, it's all a toss anyway. So, this little plot to salvage part, maybe both. Oh, to get to the good part, he has a favorite type - redheads, slightly buxom, fair complected, youngish. Add that to needing possibly, for some reason, to get Reagana out of the way, which we've confirmed by accessing her file is the intent, though not the reason they feel it necessary, well, they put this little plot together."

She drank down the last of her coffee, and Peter looked over at her, the intense look being one she remembered well from their days together, that look that said he was putting the pieces of the play together, working out any places that needed extra work, trying to see any red flags, "So, 'ow's it supposed to work, from their point of view, that is?" he asked.

She heaved a sigh, putting it together in her mind. "He's been told to head here for his exit, so with Reagana, supposedly, being in place to guide him to the sub, the play's in place. Since she wasn't to take the route your team would give her, and she was supposed to refuse any escort, or lose them after the fact if you or the Underground insisted, she'd be out there alone with him. They figure they can't lose, I think. If he makes a play and takes her out, and makes it back to the sub, well, she's out of the way, they have him back and they can decide how to play it from there, take him down, or put him back into the game under another identity, pacify the father with a mock trial, the whole works; I'm thinking the latter myself."

"If he makes a play and she takes him down, which she's capable of doing if given any opportunity at all, she gets back to the sub, has to answer for his loss, maybe she survives that, maybe she goes into custody when she gets back; I'm betting they aren't intending her to get back, so I'd think whoever was to meet her is highly suspect as well. Maybe they thought the two would finish each other, just two more bodies at the side of some ravine in a country with more than a few of those lying around; they could work with that as well, though they'd regret his loss. Even if they both did end up at the rendezvous point, alive and reasonably well, they could both be taken into custody or disappear, whatever seems best to those blaggards."

Later, in the Colonel's office, "Mon Colonel, you're taking this rather calmly; what are we going to do?" LeBeau said, with Peter interjecting, "seems we could just take the wanker out while 'e's 'ere, no muss, no fuss; far as London is concerned, 'e just never made it this far," to be answered with a stern, "No, we can't and we won't. First of all," giving a distrustful look back at the door to his office, knowing the woman was now downstairs after being escorted to her cot for the night, "we don't know how much of that is true. Six years is a long time; just because you thought you knew her then, could trust her, doesn't mean you still can."

Upon seeing the widened eyes from Newkirk, the protest building, he moved quickly to smooth the waters, "we know what she's told us, probably that's what she's been told, but seems the truth is in short supply around this whole business, so I'm not willing to agree to kill someone, one of our own agents, based on third-hand information, especially with HQ running this assignment she's on, with them treating him like a valuable resource. Fine thing, we do something like that, only to find out it's a setup, this guy's made some enemies and she and her people bought into the whole scenario, and we end up the heavy. No, not going to happen, and that's final. "

He could tell the members of his command team didn't like his answer, but he was in charge; that's the way it always had been, the way it always would be, and he'd see they did things his way. In his mind, it was best to just let it play out, keep his team out of it; their mission was too important to risk for this woman, this female Peter insisted on sharing cigarettes with, called Brat, who sent him letters he read over and over again, read to the crew. No, they'd just stay out of it, let it play out, that was best.


	5. Connections Are Made

It was another three days before they received word from the Underground that the agent had been in contact, was on his way, on schedule to arrive in another two days. She'd spent the time getting to know the guys, getting reacquainted with Peter, avoiding Hogan as best she could. Peter had borrowed Andrew's guitar, and had her sing some of the songs he remembered; they sang one or two together, their voices blending together better than you'd think after so long without practice. She told stories of Haven, and some of that Internship year, and Peter found it intriguing to hear those told from her point of view; in a few cases, after she'd finish, he'd give that engaging grin of his, and tell the same story from his point of view, often to the resounding laughter from the listeners. She left things out, of course; he did, as well; there was much from that year, from those stories that were private to them, not for sharing, and Andrew seemed to pick up on those little omissions, because he'd give a tiny knowing grin at them at those points, as if he knew what they were leaving out, or at least that they were editing.

Hogan made himself scarce at those retellings; frequently interrupted to draw the men, especially Peter away to handle what even an outsider could see were things that didn't really need to be handled, at least not right at that moment. The guys were kind to her, and she found herself liking them more and more; Andrew found a special place in her heart, and she resolved to keep up that contact, perhaps through a conduit; she had her youngest sister in mind for that. Coura would enjoy the subterfuge, and would probably be quite good at it. 

She never knew quite how the conversation had started; she'd come up from below to find them in quiet, serious discussion around that long table. They'd hesitated when she joined them, reluctant to continue, but Peter knew her better than that, "no, mates, keep going, you'll not offend 'er, might be good to get the female point of view, you know." So they had, and when they'd gotten to a stopping point and looked at her, she had a tiny frown on her face, and took a deep breath before answering those looks.

"Seems like maybe I am looking at it a bit different that what you're seeming to, though it's probably more me being Clan than me being a woman. To me, it isn't so much what is done, what happens between people; male or female, we don't count that being important, not like so many of the Outlanders seem to, but a different matter entirely, a matter of whether what is being done is a sharing or a taking. We're taught, in the Clan, that the difference is between there being true understanding of what is being considered, consent and sharing, and there being NO true understanding and therefore consent not being possible, that being just taking. Also, there's the ability to stop everything at any moment, if either person needs that to happen; that has to be there, for us."

"No matter what takes place, if there's no consent, then it is only taking, and shouldn't be happening. And if consent isn't possible, for whatever reason, then it shouldn't be happening, either. If someone can't say 'yes', because they are being threatened, are drunk or drugged, are unconscious, maybe just in a position where the other person has a perceived power or authority over them, like with an adult and a child, or an employer and employee," she had started to say 'officer and enlisted', but that would have opened up a can of worms best left undisturbed, "then there really can't be consent, except under the most limited and unusual circumstances. If there is true understanding, and true consent, then it is a private matter, a sharing, or should be, to our way of thinking. So take something so simple as a kiss, for example - freely given, freely received, between any two people, no matter whether they be man and woman, both women, both men that is acceptable. Taking, even a kiss, by force or coercion, is never right." That put a few raised eyebrows on faces, a frown on one or two, but not a frown of disapproval, more one of deep thought, deep study. 

Another discussion came about when Kinch expressed serious concerns about her escorting the agent back alone, suggesting a couple of them shadow them for safety's sake. Hogan had already put the thumbs down on that idea, so that didn't go over so well with the commander when Kinch suggested it, giving a somewhat defiant look at the officer as he did it. Caeide smiled, thanked Kinch, sincerely, she was grateful for his concern, but assured them that while there was a bit of a risk, she thought she would do well enough; she looked over to Peter with a raised eyebrown, and he broke into a laughing cough.

"Kinch, me mate, I imagine she can 'andle him. Did I ever tell you the story of 'ow I first met this bit of trouble?" and he proceeded to relate that first meeting, how the gang leader and his men attacked Marisol, Maude and young Caeide and why. How, in the aftermath, other than caring for Marisol's injuries, the most troublesome thing was finding a way to quietly dispose of the six bodies, four of whom were to her account, her only thirteen at the time.

Wide eyes, murmurs of appreciation, a disbelieving look from their commander, to whom Peter, who seemed to be missing all the unpleasant undercurrents, or at least trying to ignore them, responded with "no lie, Gov, she took the four of them down sweet as anything. One with a knife thrown from across the room, straight through the eye it was, right to the bloody 'ilt. One, she put a dent across the ole Adams Apple, collapsed 'is throat, she did, turned purple and just stopped breathing. The one 'olding 'er by 'er 'air and around tha waist, she waited til she sent old Marrick's balls up to the back of 'is teeth with one kick, then spun and gutted 'im with a knife, then turned back to slice Marrick's throat, one side to the other. Some of my mates took care of tha other two, but she probably would've managed without our 'elp if we 'adn't come along. Unless she's slowed down in 'er old age," with raised eyebrows at the woman, to which she gave a cheeky grin in return, "I'd say as long as she's a knife or two about 'er, she'll manage just fine."

He frowned, "question is, what then?" He looked at her, "do ya 'ave a plan for that?" and she nodded, solemnly, "yes, though there are variations, depending on how things go down." and said no more, but used that statement to segue into a tale about Peter and a blond barmaid and a husband she'd forgotten to mention she had but his showing up at a most inopportune time that had them roaring; they'd heard the story from Derrick and Kyle when they'd come through, but her perspective as an onlooker had some new and different twists, and the tall Englishman turning pink, but laughing right along with them. {"Well, there are more embarrassing tales she could be telling about me, right enough, but seems she's being right cautious about letting any mention slip about my taste for the blokes now and again. Funny, that never seemed to bother 'er, but Maudie said that liking both wasn't uncommon in 'er people, so that's probably it. Still, 'ope she continues with that, not mentioning anything here; could cause some problems it could. Might mention that to 'er, just to be sure,"} but looking at her, a touch of his worry evident in his eyes, seeing the understanding smile on her face, the look in her eye, he knew he didn't have to, that she knew, and wouldn't knowingly do anything to cause him trouble.

"What about after it's all done, what about those two, Albright and Duncan" came the question from LeBeau, quietly, as they sat at one end of the table.

A quick look from Caeide, and a knowing shake of the head from Peter, "no, don't think to pass that by; there's no way your people would let this stand, we both know that." She saw they'd captured the attention of the others.

She grinned wryly, "well, you know, we're an old people, we don't hold with all that modern nonsense we hear the Outlanders," clarifying by adding, "non-Clan, are so intent on, about it being better to leave vengence aside, it's better to forgive, turn the other cheek, all that sort of foolishness."

Kinch was a bit shocked to hear those biblical words derided as 'modern nonsense' and wondered just how OLD the Clan really was!

"No, we take our vengence like we take our drink, straight and strong and in goodly supply. They'll be dealt with; they're not the first, most likely not the last. We don't seem to have much luck with Yank officers in this war; doubt the Clan will have any more of our people working with them close on any time soon; we've tried to avoid it as is."

At the questions now coming her way fast and furious, she took a long look around, though avoiding looking at Hogan, himself obviously a Yank officer and one she wasn't having much luck with either, and nodded; she had a feeling they might as well get to know who she really was, she thought she might be seeing somewhat of them in the time ahead.

So she told the story of Maeve and her Liam, Maeve being her older cousin, older by four years, and the one she'd inherited Haven from. Of the Allied Command setting up a special team, sending it on a desperate mission, with a Yank Lieutenant Wilson in command, Maeve being sent because she knew the area and the people well. Of the disasterous outcome, oh the mission being successful, if you considered it successful for only the officer, Maeve and two others returning, out of a total of the fourteen who headed out. Of the bad or misleading intel, of the betrayal by the officer and the other higher in rank who commanded them, of promised support not coming, never even having been ordered, of the tossing away of lives, including Liam, who had Bonded with Maeve during that time, him dying while seeing the mission completed, some of those lives sacrificed by the officer carelessly, some deliberately. Of the officer thinking to abandon the survivors behind the lines, intent on coming back alone. Of the congratulations shared by the two officers at the end on a successful mission, the two other men being sent back to prison where they'd been recruited, in violation of all agreements, Maeve being told her accusations were inconsequential, that the men had been expendable, disposable, and their loss of no importance, there were plenty more where they came from, after all.

She gave a slight nod to herself, "Maeve went back to Haven after a severe reprimand for making such ludicrous accusations, making such an issue of those oh-so-expendable men being lost on what was, after all, a necessary mission. The two Yank officers went on to share a celebratory dinner at a fancy hotel, to celebrate and to make plans for what was to come next. Such promising officers, such plans, such ideas they had! But it all came to naught. Such a shame! Quite the tragedy; everyone said so. When the waiters came to clear away the table they were shocked to find the two had apparently succumbed to a fatal case of food poisoning; seemingly they should maybe have skipped those mushrooms on that steak."

The men were stunned at the implications, the cold smile as the girl related the ending of that.

"And the two men sent back to prison?" came from Andrew, to be answered with a casual, "somehow they got misplaced, neither prison or military could find them, though I believe two meeting their descriptions have been seen at one of our southern communities."

"And your cousin, Maeve?" Peter asked in a quiet voice. With a slight shrug of her shoulders, and a hand reaching out for his cigarette, which he handed over to her automatically, not even thinking about it, she took a deep drag and returned it.

"As I said, she returned to Haven. I was apprentice and junior in training to her there. She sat me down, we went over all the planning, all the records, all she'd want me to know, all she'd hoped for at Haven. Placed a long call to the Clan Grandmother, and went to spend the night in vigil at the Sun Stone. Told me to come there an hour before the nooning, which I did."

"I gathered her body from the base of the Sun Stone, placed it on the stone bier there at the side, lit the branches that are always in wait there, lit the oil lamps, and sat in vigil til sundown, as the ceremony calls for. Went back to the household, contacted the Clan. They sent a delegation to collect her ashes, told me her name and the name of her Liam would be added to the Great Wall of Remembrance; told me she'd wanted me to take over Haven."

"She took her own life?!" LeBeau gasped.

She looked at him, then with a small sad not-quite-a-smile, "she had Bonded to him; she would have followed him, of course; we don't survive that loss of one we've Bonded to, not unless there's a child in the making, and then delay only til the child can be born and handed over to the Clan for the rearing and raising; then would come the following after, the rejoining in the next life. Maeve herself was such a child, child of my mother and Aunt Agnera's second cousin; Aunt Agnera and Aunt Kathleen adopted her and raised her, so she was a cousin to me by birth, also a cousin by the adoption. When Kathleen died after a fall from a horse, and Agnera followed her, they also having been a Bonded pair, Maeve inherited Haven."

She quietly finished the cigarette in her hand, stubbed it out, and left to seek out her cot for the night. The men sat in silence, wanting to discuss what they'd heard, but strangely reluctant to do so as well. In the end, they settled for silence, til they also made their way to their bunks to search for sleep. Peter, especially found sleep hard to come, thinking about what she'd said about the Bonding; remembering what her family had told him, that she'd Bonded to him during that year; he'd refused to believe, accept that, but now, he wondered just what that meant for them, if he made it through this bloody war, what it meant for her, if he didn't. Finally, knowing there was nothing he could do about it either way, he turned over and drifted into an uneasy sleep.

 

.


	6. Little Red Riding Hood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A villain comes to camp and the original mission is set aside.

Hogan had been hoping for something to distract his men, especially Peter, from the woman til the agent arrived. He got his wish, though even he would have gladly admitted this wasn't anything like what he'd hoped for. Early evening, an Infantry Colonel, Colonel Valschmidt, arrived with a small entourage, making his slow way to the Kommandant's office like he owned the place.

"Mon Colonel, the Kommandant has company, an Army Colonel looks like," LeBeau told them quickly, and they made their way from the tunnel to Hogan's office. LeBeau grabbed the coffee pot and they listened, in curiousity, then in increased consternation as the German officer made the usual arrogant chit chat, letting Klink know where he fit in the scheme of things, that is, slightly lower than the gloss on the Colonel's boots, his initial demand for accommodation for himself and his staff overnight, taking Klink's quarters for himself with a casualness that bespoke of this being a common thing. Presented paperwork ordering anyone who read it to offer 'complete cooperation' with the officer who presented it. Then came the demand that shocked them, as well as Klink.

"And bring me a woman."

"A, a, a woman, Herr Colonel, there are no women here. This is a prisoner of war camp," Klink stuttered.

"You have a secretary, don't you? I'd heard you did, Helga, Hilda, something like that? Pretty little blond thing?"

"You wish to dictate a letter, a report, Herr Colonel? Perhaps my aide might assist . . ."

"No, Klink, you idiot, I don't want to dictate a letter. Never mind, just send her to me this evening after I have my meal." Klink was beginning to get a bad feeling about this, and decided that it was a good thing his secretary had left early for the day.

"I am most sorry, Herr Colonel, she has left for the day, in fact, she is on leave for the next several days, something about her mother I believe," Klink said, the first part being the truth, the second not. Hogan's men looked at each other, not liking the request, but liking Klink's response.

"Perhaps the Colonel might like to have his driver take him into town, I understand there is an establishment that he might find accommodation," and his eyes grew wide and he started to stutter, "not that I ever have, you know, but I've heard rumors."

"Do be quiet, Klink. If there are no women here, then we will just have to be creative, now won't we?" the Colonel chuckled. "When is your roll call, Klink?" With a puzzled frown, Klink glanced at the clock on the wall, "in about thirty minutes, why?"

Then the words that caught at the throats of everyone listening to that amplified coffee pot, "I'll just pick out one or two candidates from among the prisoners; I'm sure there must be someone that would serve the purpose almost as well." Klink protested, talking about the Geneva Convention, about which this officer cared nothing, about his duties as Kommandant, about which the Colonel cared even less.

Klink even told him, "the Senior Prisoner of War, he will never stand for me handing over one of his men to you!", and there was silence, and then an amused chortling.

"Klink, I will tell you what I will do for you and your Senior Prisoner of War, I will let him make the decision here. I will pick out three of these men. You and this officer may select which one to send to me; if you choose no one for me, have no one sent to me by nine o'clock tonight, my men will shoot ten of the prisoners. If there is no one in my quarters by nine fifteen, another ten will be shot. We'll see how long his defiance goes on. Those are your choices, Klink, a woman in my quarters by nine o'clock tonight, one of the ones I selected by nine o'clock, or . . . Well, I'm sure you will make the right decision. And, Klink, whoever comes tonight, have them cleaned up, will you? I'll see you in, "glancing at his watch, "twenty minutes for that roll call," with a nasty smile, and went into Klink's quarters. Klink sat down at his desk with a thud, pale and sweaty now. 

Hogan took a look at his watch: twenty minutes to roll call, then less than an hour to the nine o'clock deadline. "Kinch, get on the radio, fast. Find out anything you can about this Colonel, anything that might give us some leverage. LeBeau, find out from Schultze how many men he brought in with him. Newkirk, get the link into Klink's quarters open, I'll want to hear anything he's saying in there to his men, to anyone. Carter, check, make sure the tunnel and entrance into those quarters is useable. Hurry!"

Caeide was staying in the background, and everyone was too busy, too caught up in what was happening to take any notice. She dashed down after Kinch, checking her supplies, just in case, and made it back up to her original shadowed corner before everyone reported back.

"Mon Colonel, he has his aide, and four junior officers, six others," LeBeau gasped as he dashed back in from cornering Schultze to get the information needed.

"All in place, Colonel," came from Newkirk.

Carter dashed up, "Colonel, we won't be able to use the tunnel," to a round of consternation, "What, why?!"; "there's been a cave-in, not bad, but it'll take hours to clear it enough to get through," with his big brown eyes anxious and worried.

Kinch joined them, "It's not good, Colonel. Valschmidt, he's making his way across Germany, back from North Africa, but taking his time about it. He commandeers quarters, supplies, whatever he wants, and for about half of his stops, he leaves a body behind, usually female, not always, sometimes men, even a couple of kids." At that, Schultz came in through the barracks door, "Rous, Rous, everybody out, Rollcall, everybody out!" and at a nod from Hogan, they all made their way out into the compound. 

Valschmidt didn't look like anything special, just another German officer in a fancy uniform, full of his own importance; nothing seemed different, except that slight knowing smile as he looked over the men. He whispered to Klink, and Klink, looking like he was going to be sick any minute, walked over and introduced Hogan as Senior Prisoner of War, Officer in Charge. Valschmidt nodded, looked at Hogan carefully, and his smile grew, seeing which group of men Hogan had aligned himself with. Ignoring the men of the other barracks, he focused on the ones from Barracks 2, the one where Hogan made his own quarters. He then took his time to look over the men of Hogan's group, pausing now and then, considering, then asked Schultz, "Sergeant, what are their names, that one, that one, that one?" and Schultz stuttered, "Herr Colonel, that is Sergeant Olsen, Sergeant Carter, Corporal Newkirk," looking over at Klink in confusion. {"What does this Colonel need to know these men's names for?"}  


"Come with me, Colonel Hogan, we have a little something we need to discuss with you," came from the German Colonel, and in the Kommandant's office, put the situation to Hogan. Hogan protested, he stormed, but he knew, deep inside, there was nothing he could do here. Back in the barracks, his men, listening on the coffee pot, knew that as well. They looked at each other, hardly daring to breathe, not seeing any way out of this, hoping Hogan could come up with one of his ideas, but knowing the mission, the purpose of their organization couldn't be abandoned for the sake of one man. Hogan made his way across the compound, through the door and into his office, {"What do I say, what do I tell them? Twenty minutes til the deadline, til the blood bath starts."} 

They were waiting for him in his office, Kinch and Newkirk and LeBeau. He sat down at his desk, slowly looking up at them, "Kinch, anything else you found out, anything that might help?" to which the tall black man shook his head slowly, "only that the bodies, well, there was a lot of damage, he's a sadist, a sexual predator of the worst kind. Colonel, what are we going to do?"

Hogan frowned, realizing he'd seen Olsen in his bunk when he came through the barracks, but not Carter, and he'd just noticed that Carter wasn't in here either.

"Where's Carter?" he asked, with a deeper frown, only to have Newkirk rear back, anger deep in his voice, in his face.

"You ain't sending Andrew over there, Colonel; that ain't going to 'appen!"

He looked up at Newkirk, angry at the assumption, angry at the situation, just angry through and through. "I never said I was, Corporal, but where is he??"

"I think maybe this all made him a little sick, I think he headed down into the tunnel, maybe to throw up in that back little room," offered LeBeau.

"Go find him," he started to say, when Newkirk stopped him, "don't bother. If someone's got to go over there, then it'll be me. You think of something to get us out of this, fine, but I'm not letting Andrew or Olsen deal with him," though with a deep swallow and a sick dread showing in his eyes.

Hogan picked up his jacket, stood up, "maybe I can get Klink to take a stand, get the guards involved," to a cynical look from his men. Hogan knew, inside, he was grasping at straws, and time was running out. Just then Carter came up from the tunnel, slowly, apprehensively, not catching anyone's eye.

When Schultze came through the barracks door just then, right after the bunk lowered itself into place, Newkirk straightened, looked at each of them, pausing a moment with each, knowing it'd be the last time, and tried to calm his racing heart. Taking a deep swallow he started forward, reached for the door, thinking he'd go out under his own power, without being forced, only to receive a puzzled frown from Schultze, "where are you going, Newkirk? All prisoners are confined to the barracks until morning rollcall, by order of the Kommandant!" They all looked at Schultze in disbelief.

He shrugged, "the big shot is in his office, drinking. The other big shot is in the Kommandant's quarters with the young lady. It seems they don't want any interruptions," he said, but with a slightly worried frown on his face. In a softer voice, he urged them, "Be good boys, this big shot, he's not a nice man, I think," and left. They heard the riot bars go down then, at the door, at the windows, and a dash to the periscope showed the same happening at each of the barracks.

Newkirk sat down on one of the benches hard, unable to believe his last minute reprieve. "Young lady? But 'ilda's gone for the night, and anyway Kink wouldn't 'ave . . ." He stiffened, turned quickly, rasping out hoarsely, "Andrew, where is she?! She didn't . . ." and the tall Brit turned a deathly pale, while the others just looked confused, then appalled as they too began to understand.

Andrew just stood there looking at him, licked his lips and said in a small, quiet voice, "she said to show you this," and pointed to a symbol inked onto the back of a slip of paper he laid on the table, "said you'd understand. Told me to tell you she bloody well meant it too!"

"Just what the hell is going on?!" Hogan ground out, his voice harsh and cold; things were way out of control, out of his control, and he never dealt well with that.

Andrew looked up at them, his eyes huge, "she asked me which of the guards were on duty at the gate, outside, which of those most manageable, had me go down to the tunnel with her. She changed into girls' clothes, some we had in the storeroom; we went out through the tunnel, she sent me back down, but I saw her go up to Langensheidt, talk to him. She didn't even look like herself, by then; she'd unbraided her hair, and it was all loose and soft, all curls and waves, and with the clothes, and that long cape we had from the play we did, you know, the bright red one - well, I don't know that I've have recognized her as being the same person even."

Newkirk headed back into the office on the fly, flipping the switch to the Kommandant's quarters, sick to his stomach, knowing what that symbol meant, {"well, acourse I do, I taught it to 'er, now didn't I?"}. The others followed, one eye on him, one on the coffee pot, waiting, listening, knowing there was no way to get to that building without making a direct run for it, knowing that wasn't going to happen even if the Colonel would have allowed it, what with the riot bars in place, that tunnel out of commission. Oh, there were other tunnels, but none that would get them there unobserved, without getting shot.

"What does it mean, Pierre, that piece of paper," LeBeau murmured, and Newkirk looked over at him with sick and hopeless eyes.

"An old sign, from back then; means "plans are in place, don't interfere or you'll muck it all up, so stay the bloody 'ell out of it!" Acourse, it was one I usually used to keep 'er back out of the works, not often the other way around. Carter, why? Why would you even think of . . .?" and he found he couldn't go on.

"I didn't want to, didn't like it, but she reminded me of what you'd told us, about when you'd met; said that she's learned a few things since then, too, and that we needed to trust her on this."

Carter's eyes were scared, almost as much as Peter's; they looked at each other and Peter nodded to him, reluctantly, accepting of what had happened. {"Lord, she always did 'ave a mind of 'er own, and more protective of others than of 'erself, me included. Bloody 'ell, me more than any,"} thinking back to the times she'd had his back, the times she'd put herself on the line for him. She'd taken a knife in the ribs for him once, and was astonished and angry when he'd read her the riot act later. He remembered as if it were yesterday, standing there while Maude tended her, "what, you would have preferred to take a knife to the kidney rather than I get a tiny poke in the ribs? Well, I didn't, thank you so much! I knew what I was about, and I'd appreciate a bit more confidence in me, if you don't mind!!" They'd raged at each other for awhile, only to turn aside to face the laughing Marisol and the disgusted Maude. "Maybe ye should just take turns getting bunged up," Maude said, "or you could just try to neither of you come home bloody and bruised, unless ye think that'd be too tame!" He never forgot that, what she'd done, had been extra careful for the rest of that year, far more afraid for her rather than himself, knowing then that she'd placed no limits on how far she'd go on his behalf.

Sounds now came from the coffee pot, a knock on the door, then voices. A very young voice, hesitant and shy, one only Peter of this group had ever heard before, {"that's 'er, 'ain't I an innocent darling then', voice; never saw 'ow she got away with that one, but never 'ad anyone question it, either! Seems I was the only one to see through it, see 'ow unbelievable it could be that someone like 'er would 'ave a voice like that. Like a bloody great mastiff with a bark like one of those little yappy dogs. Only with 'er, it was 'er spirit that was the mastiff, she didn't 'ardly look that way, so guess that's why she could get away with it."}, greeted by an oily voice, one they recognized quite well.

They listened, unable to turn away, hearing his approach, hearing her explanation. After that first introduction, other than offering her a glass of wine, which she accepted, he didn't speak. Seems she'd been headed back from visiting her grandmother when her bicycle had broken a wheel; she'd walked til she saw the camp, approached the gate, and a very nice young soldier had brought her here. Visions of Little Red Riding Hood came to mind, especially with that red cape they knew she'd taken with her. Newkirk could even see the sweet smile on her face, those eyes that could match Andrew's for innocence, although he rather thought the look was real in Andrew's case, well, most of the time anyway.

They heard about her grandmother, old and rather frail now, needing more help than before, her mother waiting at home with younger brothers and sisters, her father and brother away fighting in the war, on and on, nothing important, just words, just the voice, the voice sweet, quiet, soothing, almost mesmerizing, and Peter felt his head jerk as he almost went to sleep.

He looked at the others, unable to believe what he'd done, with the danger she was in, and he saw the same thing on their faces, a quiet relaxation, almost a kind of drugged peace, and he suddenly knew what she was trying. He reached out to sharply tap each of them, and he saw when they came to their senses, looking around, confused.

He tried to explain, even as he tried to remember what she'd told him. "She's luring 'im; I've never seen 'er do it, acourse, only 'eard 'er tell about it; never really believed it, ta tell the truth, thought she'd be pranking me, telling me a tall tale, ya know; told me she'd never done it 'erself, but it's taught to all of them, just in case; says its powerful 'ard to do, takes too much outta ya to use without need, and besides, 'er family 'as strict rules against using it unless in desperate times anyway, never for fun, never for personal reasons, though there 'as to be personal involved with it too, since part of it's driven that way, only when everything's on the table, so's to speak. Says most go through their lifetime and never need it; others may use it once, says it's said to often not work a second time, so most save it thinking there may be more need later. Takes some 'elp, too, ta work best; probably dropped a bit from 'er ring into that glass of wine was poured when she came in."

Then, remembering what else she'd told him, he inhaled deeply, and in a low agonized voice, "said for some, it wouldn't even work that first time, you could do everything right, but, just, nothing'd 'appen, then you'd really come a cropper. That there was no way to know which it'd be, not til it was tried."

Hogan tilted his head, "you mean she's hypnotizing him?!"

"Well, something like, guess you'd maybe call it that, but I think there's quite a bit more to it than that."

They waited, listened, and before long, in response to her gentle voice and its urgings, heard the Colonel open the door, call to his aide, had the men gathered, his luggage put in the car, and he and the girl got in the lead car, and the group left through the main gate.

"What now?" Hogan asked Peter, "any idea what she has in mind?" Peter just shook his head, still worried almost past talking, almost worried past thinking.

Carter cleared his throat, "Well, she did ask me for a couple of those little explosive sets, had me show her how they worked. Also, she said if she didn't make it back before the agent got here, stall him for a day or so before sending him on his way, to give her time to get back," to the dropped jaws from those around him, at the thought that she really thought she'd get out of this, get back to carry out the original mission.

He tried to smile at them, but couldn't manage it, just a nervous uptick at the corner of his mouth, "I think maybe she knows what she's doing, guys," trying to share his faith in the girl, not even sure why he had so much faith in her, and no one could think of anything to say in return. 

It was a long night, no one got much if any sleep. Carter huddled in his bunk, then started tossing and turning; usually when he was this upset, he could count on Newkirk to talk him out of it, maybe let him settle down on the outside of the bunk, just so he wouldn't be alone, but he didn't think that was a good idea, considering.

About midnight, though, after changing positions from probably the one hundredth time, he heard a deep sigh, then a whisper, "alright, Andrew, come on up, it's alright," and he crawled up the rails to settle down next to the Englishman.

"Peter, I'm sorry, I didn't know what else to do, I shouldn't have listened to her," but then thought about what would have happened if he hadn't, to him or to Olson or - no, he knew Peter would never have let either of them go, it would have been Peter over there with that monster, Peter who would never have come back, would have been left in Klink's quarters like so much discarded trash, and went sick and cold inside, and was more confused then ever about what he should have done, "or should I have?".

Silence, then, just a whisper, "it's alright, Andrew, once she gets the bit in 'er teeth, there's no stopping 'er, I'd know that better than most. And there's no way she'd've stood aside for what was being planned; I know that full well. She knows what we face 'ere, knows she can't stop all the bad things, can't protect us, her being so far away too, but . . . this, this was on 'er watch, so to speak, and she'd've felt it was 'er responsibility."

He sighed, pulled Andrew a bit closer, farther in from the edge of the bunk, made sure the younger man was well covered by the blanket, close enough that his whisper was now more like a soft murmur, "won't be the first time, you know. All that year, I was thinkin' I'd be the one taking care of 'er; then, out of nowhere, she'd be the one taking care of me. Did I tell you about the time she pulled me out of an alley, after I'd got bunged up right well? Two of the wankers she faced down, pistol in 'and, pulled me outta there, up to the pub; took care of me til Maude could come along; nursed me til I got well, and that took more time than I'd like to think about. Spent most all of 'er money to buy medicines, 'erbs and such, for me, too, none of us 'aving the ready for it, it all being right dear, though her family sent her more to see her through; got 'er family to send penicillin, which just weren't to be 'ad locally for ANY amount of money, not for the likes of us anyway, and no discussing me paying it back, they wouldn't even consider that, said it was just part of her learning, they'd not 'ave expected any different from 'er. Another time, she decoyed the bobbies when they came up on a job unexpected like, them and the bully boys the mark 'ad working for 'im; I'd've come a cropper on that one without 'er, them with their clubs along side and not worrying about using them either. She even took a knife for me, once; couldn't believe that, fair yelled at 'er, her yelling back, like I was a fool for thinking she'd do anything different." He stopped, remembering, and gave a tiny hummmpph to himself, "maybe I was, at that, there was no 'esitation on 'er part, that's for sure."

Andrew was very quiet, remembering what had happened with those guards, when Peter had put himself in front of Andrew to protect him, could have died because of that; then he said, in a very small whisper, "well, that's what you do for someone you . . ." and then stopped. Neither of them said anything else til morning; neither slept, but each thought their own thoughts, with their minds always on the girl out there in the night, somewhere, doing what you do when it's needful, for someone you . . ."

The next day was a long one; roll call came, riot bars came down, they all filed out. Klink made it quick, not meeting Hogan's eyes, not looking at the prisoners. He'd seemed shocked when he'd been told last night that the Colonel had ordered his people together and left; shocked and relieved to find all the prisoners were present and accounted for. Klink had entered his quarters reluctantly, dreading what he might find, but other than two glasses that had once held wine, the half-full bottle still on the table, there was no sign of anyone.

The report from Corporal Langensheidt hadn't helped his confusion, the report of a young woman at the front gate, saying she'd been told to have him take her to the Colonel who was visiting, the news that she'd left with the Colonel, all of that was very confusing, and he decided to just not think about any of it, and hope no one ever asked him about any of it either. There hadn't been the usual sly triumph on Hogan's face either, that would have told Klink his Senior Prisoner of War had anything to do with this abrupt change of plans.

Mid-day meal, cleaning up the compound, news from the Underground that the agent would be arriving that night, and Papa Bear needed to send someone to collect him at the appointed hour. No one was saying much, especially Peter, especially Andrew. Hogan arranged for Kinch and LeBeau to go out and meet the agent; he didn't think the other two could focus enough for the job, not til they got some word, or until enough time had passed to know there would be no word coming. At the last minute, he pulled LeBeau back, and took his place; he'd spent the evening hours dealing with a non-communicative, morose command crew, and felt some air might be good for him; he wasn't thinking too clearly about all of this anyway, and he needed to get back in control. 

They collected the agent, nothing special, just another guy, tall, self-contained, not very talkative and settled him into the tunnels below. He'd not expected to be sent on right away, so that was all to the good. Hogan told the guys to keep an eye on him, anyway; he wasn't sure he believed the girl's story, but he also wasn't sure how much of that disbelief was caused by his feelings of animosity, or something else. They fed him, Peter got him fitted out in different clothes, with papers, all the time keeping a much more silent stance than would have been usual. The agent, who'd told them to call him Kyle, didn't know any different, though, so no harm done there.

The arrival of Oscar Schnitzer's truck was no surpise, of course; it was his usual run in delivering the dogs, and they were expecting him to bring them spare radio parts as well; his delivery of an extra package, one redheaded female, bearing only a few bruises, was welcomed gladly, but with a good deal of amazement as well.

Hogan watched impassively as Peter grabbed her into a tight hug, then held her at arms length to give her a hard little shake, and then hugged her again, tighter than ever, never saying a word, though there was a sheen to his eyes that hadn't been there before. She chuckled up at him, and when he released her, then accepted a shy hug from Andrew, then a pat on the shoulder from the others as well.

She looked at Hogan last. "Glad to see you made it back; should I ask about the Colonel?" he asked her, striving for a calmly professional voice.

In that voice they'd heard over the coffee pot, she told him, "seems he and his group ran into a bit of bad luck, just outside Berlin, Colonel. Not sure what happened, exactly; I'd had them stop the cars, needed to, well," and he watched with incredulous amazement as she even managed a shy blush, "relieve myself in the nearby trees, since we weren't near a town. Then," with a sly grin over at Andrew, her voice changing to her own, "BOOM! BANG! WOOSH!" mimicking their young explosives expert's sound effects and his exuberent wave of the hands, repeating how he'd described the effects when he showed her how the small devices worked, followed by a deep amused chuckle.

Andrew grinned back, "wow! They worked!"

"Oh, yes, Andrew, they worked," she told him cheerfully, "quite well they worked!"

She turned back to Hogan, her grin fading into a more professional stance herself, "I contacted the Underground, they contacted Schnitzer, and here I am. Did the agent make it through?" and she was assured he had, was waiting to be guided out.

She nodded, "Can you contact the sub, find out when they expect to be in position? I can plan the exit around that. In the meantime, I'd appreciate maybe something to eat, and a place to rest for awhile?" careful to make these polite requests, not orders, and waited while Hogan gave the orders. He was none too pleased to see the alacrity with which LeBeau found her a meal, and then to have Peter move to take her away to an isolated tunnel; Hogan had intended to have Kinch do that.

"Newkirk . . ." he started to instruct the Englishman to take her there, leave her and come right back, but something about the expression on Newkirk's face, on the faces of his men made him reconsider, made him realize that would be a highly unpopular order. {"Well, she'll be out of here soon enough, I guess. Surely I can be a little patient til then. Maybe."}

Peter led her down a side tunnel just off the area he used as his tailor shop; it had just the one cot, one he used sometimes to rest when he'd been working on a rush project and just needed a break. Her things had already been moved over, not that there was much, just her clothes and the small pack she carried. He still hadn't said a word, and she was starting to wonder at that; she'd been expecting a full lecture, perhaps not at full volume considering they were in the tunnels, with German guards above, but it's what would have happened before.

"Well, no lecture?" she asked in a low voice, to receive a slow, solemn shake of the head.

"What'd you tell me before? You'd appreciate it if I'd not underestimate you, would remember just who you are, what you are capable of? Well, I remembered; I don't 'ave to like it, but I remembered." He lit a cigarette, took a long drag, then handed it over to her, her accepting it with a smile. She sat down on the cot, he moved to sit next to her. They sat for awhile, warmth gathering where their bodies touched.

"I can't even put it down to it being like before, you putting yourself between me and the knife; you'd no way of knowing it'd be me 'eaded over there," only to pause and look at her with a raised brow at the noise she made, part snort, part chuckle, part something approaching a deep giggle.

"Oh, that's right, I can see you hanging back, seeing the Olsen boy head over there; or maybe it's Andrew you'd have watched go out that door, knowing he wouldn't be coming back, knowing what he was headed into. Oh, yes, I can see you letting Andrew go over there!"

She made that noise again, "Peter, you know yourself well enough, if you'd only admit it, to know that wouldn't have happened; do you think I know you so little that I'd think that would have happened? No, it was you were bound for the man's hands and we both knew it. But, even if it wasn't, even you weren't one of those chosen that night, I'd still have gone, because it would have eaten at you that you didn't do something to stop it, never mind there was nothing you could have done. And, because I was here, and because I could do something. There's little enough I can do, am in a position to do, but that, that it was my honor, my privilege to deal with for you."

And she leaned in to him, rested her head against his shoulder, and he settled his arm around her, pulling her closer to his side. Perhaps, there in the darkness, in the stillness, there would have been more, but a voice from the tunnel broke into their moment, "Caeide, the Colonel sent me to tell you, the sub will be there in thirty-six hours; they'll be there waiting for your signal, will stay for two days. Peter, I'm sorry, he wants you back in his office," came reluctantly from Kinch, who frankly thought all of this could have waited til the morning. A sigh, no, two sighs came from the alcove, and with a touch of the cheek, another tight embrace, Peter came out to do his duty, and she curled up on the cot, to rest, to prepare for the job she was set to do.


	7. Saying Goodbye Is Never Easy

She was introduced to Kyle the next morning, having made sure to change her appearance again, more the woman, less the girl, somewhere between who she'd been with Valschmidt and who she'd been with the men upstairs. Obviously female, hair still in a braided coronet, but somehow more feminine than her tight work-a-day style. She'd not bound her breasts again, so her full body was on display, yet her manner was all professional, all the field agent as she knew her cousin would appear to be.

His response was subtle, muted, but, yes, there was interest there; well, possibly that could just be the male/female response, but she didn't think so; there was something that would have put her on her guard, even if she'd known nothing about him, some hint of wrongness. It felt uncomfortably similar to what she felt emanating from the Senior Prisoner of War, but she put that down to just her reacting to his personal antipathy to her.

She'd worked out the route back to the sub, two in fact, one using the contacts Hogan had given her, another parting ways with those contacts half-way along the journey. That was best, anyway, keeping those Underground units out of harms way on this anything but simple trip. She briefed Kyle and Hogan and his command team together, keeping up the pretense; Kyle, afterwards, asked her, "are you sure they should be in on it, the route out, I mean?" and she gave him a small smile, "well, we're only going to be following that route for the first part. We'll wait til that second contact has gone his own way, then, we'll move to a parallel route, before we're scheduled to meet up with that third and final contact. Safer that way, especially since HQ isn't so sure about this unit anymore," with a confiding chuckle, intending to show him that, while she didn't trust Hogan and his men, she did trust him! She shook her head in disgust after she'd parted company with him, {"and just how much of an idiot would I have to be, to trust someone I'd met just today, and spent less than an hour with?! Still, he's used to thinking of women as prey, as less, seems like he accepted that without question."}

She knew she'd have to be very careful in the time before they left, to be sure he didn't pick up on the way things really were, had warned all the men of that. With Hogan, well, there'd be no problem there; there was now dislike on both sides, distrust just as strong, but the others, she'd developed a liking for each of them, and as far as Peter was concerned, that was a different thing entirely. She'd arranged, with Hogan's reluctant cooperation, that one of his men would be with Kyle, or within sight, hearing, at all times, just so there was no giving away of the game, and Hogan was being especially diligent to seeing that she spent no private time with Peter. She'd hoped for more, wanted more, but she was well accustomed to dealing with things as they were, not as she wanted them to be, so possessed herself in patience, going over the plan, what she knew, what she could decide in advance, reviewing those things that might change at a moment's notice. 

She was absorbed in just that, going over the maps one more time, when she felt a presence at her back; she smiled, recognizing Andrew somehow just by his presence. "Yes, Andrew love?" unconsciously calling him by the endearment he'd heard from Peter just twice; that warmed him all the way through, hearing it from her, knowing how she felt about Peter.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked shyly, with a solemn face, not a trace of that sweet smile anywhere. She thought hard, and then gave him a sly smile, "Yes, I think there just might be," and together they planned a small surprise, actually two surprises, and he now had a grin on his face as he thought of the first, though the second, well, that was something he didn't want to even think about; still, he'd do as she asked, gladly, willingly, and without saying anything to anyone else until the time was right, if it ever was. She didn't bother to ask him to take care of Peter, as much as possible; she knew it wasn't necessary, he'd do that as much as he could without any prompting from her.

Then, at her request, he went and brought Kinch to her, for his turn at helping; Kinch was glad to help also, though he knew how Hogan would react if he knew; for the first time since he'd been here, he kept a secret from his commanding officer, did something without his knowledge, something he was pretty sure Hogan would object to, and for once, didn't care. They sent Carter to act as lookout once Kinch had it all in place, the connection made, and Caeide spoke to her people once more, again in that language no one else there could understand. She spoke with them, obtained their agreement, their promise; if she returned, then it would be handled in one way, open and aboveboard, with Hogan being aware; probably not accepting, not happy about it, but at least aware. If she didn't, well, her Clan would handle it in a different way, but still the promise would be made and honored.

LeBeau came to her later, with a big bowl of soup, filling and nourishing, with bread and cheese, and a glass of wine, and she'd thought to chide him for wasting food on her when the others needed it; reason stopped her, though; that was foolish, she'd need her strength for this trip, and she rather thought he'd be insulted anyway. He seemed to know what was going through her head, "I even took a bowl to that cochon in the far tunnel, a small bowl, with bread, though no cheese, no wine," he told her with a small smile. They chuckled together, and she hugged him once more, "thank you for taking care of him; he's written how it was you, your fixing for him special, that let him recover. I can never repay you for what you've done, and I know you did it for his own sake, so I'll say no more," with a wry grin, when he started to poker up, then relaxed back with a grin of his own.

"It's little enough he'll let anyone do, you know him well enough for that, but what we can, we do. He is my best friend, I could do no less." They nodded to each other in full understanding, and he took the bowl and glass and left her to her thoughts.

Peter she'd not seen since that morning meeting; Hogan she saw only now, when she turned to see him lounging in the entrance.

"You all set?" in a firm voice.

"Yes, all that can be planned for is in place; the rest?" she shrugged in resignation, "the rest has to be taken as it comes."

"You have the Underground contacts if you need them, the codes to pass you back here if you have to." He paused, "I'd just as soon you didn't have to," with a backward tilt to his head.

She couldn't refrain from giving just the tiniest of deep chuckles, "yes, Colonel, I am quite sure of that; I understand quite well." She looked at him appraisingly, wondering if she should make the attempt. "I'm no competition to you, Colonel; we are in different spheres. He deserves the best, from both of us, having a care for his welfare as we do," and with another glance, "as we should."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said coldly, "things are just difficult enough around here, not that you'd understand anything about that; we don't need any complications, anything that draws our focus away from the jobs we've committed to doing. When you leave here, I'd just as soon you kept going," and turned and left.

{"Oh well, I at least made the attempt, and yes, he bears great responsibility, trying to keep the men alive, the mission in place, but we both know that much of his animosity is from something quite different."} It hadn't escaped her attention that, although each of the other men had, in some way or another, let her know they knew what she'd risked, and respected, thanked her for it, there had been none of that, nothing at all, from their commanding officer.

{"Oh, well,"} and turned back to her maps, only to sense another visitor, this one much more welcome. She turned with a smile to greet him, only to see by the troubled expression on his face that he'd heard that last exchange. She was also pretty sure he wasn't going to bring it up, make it a topic of discussion, and she could understand that as well; it wouldn't be a comfortable thing for him, and she couldn't see it would accomplish anything positive. 

"Ye 'ave it all planned out, then?" he asked, to which she nodded.

"Just as you taught me, all the information I can gather, all contingencies I can foresee, trying to figure out any ways it could all go pear-shaped; yes, I'm as ready as I can be."

He licked his lips, looked down at her, "Caeide . . ." and she took pity on him, just grinned at him, "yes, Peter, I will be careful, I promise, well," with a slight laugh, "as much I can be, anyway."

He didn't take the opportunity she'd given him, though. "Yes, well I figured that; that wasn't what I wanted to say," but then just stood there, looking at her.

"Then what did you want to say, Peter?" she asked him gently, with a smile she'd been waiting to give him, a smile meant just for when they were alone, a smile that, if she didn't come back, he'd at least know what it was she hadn't said. He just shook his head, and then, wonder of wonders, leaned down to touch his lips to hers, just slightly, and then more, until it turned into a kiss she'd imagined almost all her life. They leaned closer together, letting the moment last; repeated the kiss, even more slowly, knowing it could go no further, not here, not now; still, knowing they'd both remember this, be glad they'd had this moment. They heard a rustling at the entrance, and with a glance backwards, Peter saw a reluctant Andrew standing there.

Peter gave a deep sigh, "I know, 'e's found some desperate need for my presence, something no one else can 'andle, right, Andrew," he said with a note of, not quite anger, but not so far from it.

"Yes," came the soft answer, then a soft chuckle, "it's a shame I couldn't find you, isn't it? Probably made a trip to the latrine; you might want to remember that when you come back in. But," and he said it hesitantly, as if he didn't want to say it at all, "he's not going to wait for long before he comes himself, or sends someone else, so . . ." and he moved quietly back down the tunnel.

They smiled at each other, in their appreciation for the young man's understanding, his kindness, shared another long kiss, and with a touch to her cheek, one she repeated with him, they parted, each returning to their duty, their own mission. They both knew the chances of her returning to camp were slight, no matter which way the mission went; if successful, it made more sense to use another route home, especially if she was trying to avoid another trap upon returning to London.

She knew she would be reliving those few moments again and again, and blessed Andrew for giving them just that little bit more time. {"Well, I'll be thinking on them provided I make throught this mess in one piece,"} she reminded herself crisply, pulling herself back to the job at hand.


	8. The Trap

They left after the last roll call, having waited in the tunnel below until they got the all clear. LeBeau took them out, brought them to the first relay, then gave her a steady look and a nod, wished them "Bon Chance," and departed, heading back in the way they'd come. The Underground contact led them on, and the way was smooth going for a bit, then got rougher as they approached the second meeting place. The second contact led them on to a small ravine, told them to wait there for an hour, then go along the ravine to where the last contact would be waiting for them.

They waited til he was gone, waited ten minutes, then Caeide whispered, "Alright, now we branch out on our own. I was told that any problems, they come along this last part of the journey," only to have Kyle say, "why not meet up with this guy first; take him out of the picture? I can do that easily enough," with a chuckle.

She read the bloodlust in him, knew she couldn't let this happen, she needed him, his need, focused on her. "No, that was considered, but HQ wants him alive and well; they are setting a trap to find out who his handlers are, who in the camp has turned. They were most firm on that." She knew, had arranged with Hogan, for the last contact to know they wouldn't be coming this way, not to meet them, but she didn't want Kyle to know that, didn't want to raise his suspicions when the fictitious third contact never arrived. She saw him consider that, was aware of him scrutinizing her more closely, up and down, and she felt the hunger in him rise to a new, more intense level. It had been there, that hunger, since their meeting, had grown during the trip, but now she could feel his intent. His breathing had deepened, she could almost feel the need burning in him. She took a deep breath, and led the way onward, to the route she had picked out, a route with lots of isolated places where no outsiders could become caught up in this trap.

They'd been waiting for word, waiting for her to come back, waiting for something, anything. They knew from the Underground that the second handoff had been made, and that the third contact had stayed away, as instructed. The Underground had some concern with this deviation from routine, this leaving of two Allied agents wandering around Germany on their own, but Hogan had convinced them everything was under control, just to keep their ears open for anything unusual concerning the girl or the man. Unbeknownst to him, they would have anyway, neither of the contacts having been happy about the state of affairs, nor about the strange sense of excitement pouring off the man. They'd met such, in their time, one who was not to be trusted around women, and could only wonder that she'd been given the task of guiding him out alone.

"Colonel, we're in contact with the sub; you'd better hear this," came the grim message from Kinch. Newkirk went cold as he caught the compassionate look flashed at him from his friend. They all hurried down to the radio room.

"Papa Bear, packages have arrived, but afraid they're a total loss. Brown package arrived smashed, quite beyond repair, I'm afraid. The smaller red package, well, there was damage there too, but when we were trying to transfer it to the repair shop, it slipped out of our delivery men's hands, and I'm rather afraid it fell into the water. We were unable to retrieve, repeat, unable to retrieve. Terribly sorry, Papa Bear."

"Understood, Papa Bear out" Hogan said, turning reluctantly to the others. He looked at them, but couldn't think of anything to say, nothing at all, in response to the eyes on him. There was silence, "we don't know what she had planned, maybe she's okay, just figured out a way of not going back with them," Andrew tentatively offered, his worried eyes watching Peter carefully. LeBeau had put his hand on Newkirk's arm, offering whatever support he could. Peter drew in a deep breath, "right you are, Andrew; even she wasn't sure just 'ow she'd 'ave to 'andle that last little bit, now was she? Pretty sure she couldn't trust them anyway. Wouldn't've made a lot of sense to drop back into their 'ands, would it? Could be we'll 'ear from 'er in the next few, letting us know she's all right and tight," giving them what had to be the worlds worst excuse for a smile, and left them to go back topside, climbing into his bunk, staring at the ceiling, closing out the rest of the world.

They followed him up the ladder, and Hogan started to approach Newkirk's bunk, to offer some words to distract him, he wasn't sure which ones, none came to mind, just as none had come to him down below, but somehow, the looks on the other men's faces, solemn, accusing, stopped him. He tightened his jaw and went to his quarters, closing the door with a crisp klunk. {"There's no reason for them to be upset with me, none at all! Well, they'll come around; I'll talk to Peter tomorrow; it'll all work itself out,"} he told himself, before undressing and setting down to sleep.

There was little sleep in the outside room, each of them thinking on the young woman out there somewhere in the night, whether she was alive or dead, if alive, in what condition. Olsen hadn't been in the Colonel's quarters when the coffee pot was on, but he'd heard about the ultimatum, knowing Newkirk, Carter and he himself had been in grave peril, that without the woman, her putting herself in the line of fire in their place, one of them would be dead by now; maybe even, many of them dead. LeBeau and Kinch, thinking of the woman, thinking as well of Peter, what he must be thinking, feeling right now.

Carter hesitated, then, without asking permission this time, pulled himself and his blanket up into Newkirk's bunk, moved close and tucked the covers tight around both of them. This time, he'd be the one to offer comfort, what little he could, if only the shared warmth under the blanket, the sound of another heartbeat, and if he felt the trembling in the body next to his, heard the jagged breathing, he never said a word, then or later.

**  
Three days later Oscar Schnitzer arrived to switch out the dogs, and signaled that he needed to talk to one of them. LeBeau went, since he got along with the dogs so well, and the other three of the command team provided a handy diversion for Schultze and Langenscheidt who were luckily the guards closest to the area. Louie and Oscar stood out of sight of everyone except Andrew, who acted as the relay watcher, to see when Newkirk and Kinch could stop the comedy routine. It was harder on them today, he could see; their hearts just weren't in it. He saw Oscar hand something to LeBeau, LeBeau nod his appreciation and head back to the barracks, Schnitzer getting in his truck and going back out the gate.

It was awhile before they could all gather, what with their time not exactly being their own. Klink had called a surprise roll call; General Burkhalter had arrived unexpectedly, necessitating a listen-in on the coffee pot; a call from London that Hogan took alone. Finally, after the evening meal, they sat down as if to play cards, hands dealt in front of them, bits of wood carved from a broken chair working as chips.

"All right, LeBeau. What did Schnitzer have for us?" Hogan asked, tipping his crush cap to the back of his head. He laid his hand casually along Newkirk's shoulder, and if there was no relaxing of the tall Englishman into that touch, well, he'd just be patient. Surely Peter couldn't stay upset with him for much longer.

"First, Colonel, any word from London, about that fellow Kyle and such, that might tell us about Caeide?" Newkirk asked, his voice a study in casualness, not looking at Hogan or the others, just leaning forward to tap the ash off his cigarette, but not leaning back again, choosing instead to rest his forearms on the table.

"Yeah, that last call, but nothing much, just a few details." He'd thought to not mention any of that, but since Kinch had heard the call, he figured it'd get around anyway. "Seems when the boat came to shore for the pickup, they found Kyle and the girl both there. Kyle was dead, looked like he'd been in a fight, they said, he died of two stab wounds."

"And, Colonel, what about Caeide," came, from all people, Andrew Carter, which earned him a look of exasperation from Hogan.

He shrugged, "they said she was hurt, lots of blood, but they weren't sure if some of that wasn't Kyle's, since it looked like she had pulled him down to the shore line. She was unsteady on her feet, as if she was badly hurt, and they'd just started to get her into the boat when she slipped, fell, and obviously there was a deep place there, a heavy current, and she went under. They dove to try and find her, but it was an inlet, washing to a deeper area, and they figured that's where she ended up. The water there is frigid; even if she'd still been alive, she wouldn't have lasted more than a couple of minutes, and they had to pull their men back for fear of losing them too. I'm sorry."

There was silence; for some reason, LeBeau was looking at him very strangely.

"LeBeau, what about Schnitzer?" trying to get the subject changed, get their attention back on the job, on what was important.

This earned him a very Gallic shrug, "he brought us a copy of the Hamburg WaddenSea newspaper, told us to pay attention to the Public Notices. He also said for us to remember, "you can't believe everything you read in the papers." He handed over the newspaper, "I believe this is what he was referring to," pointing out a small ad. Kinch pulled it closer and read it aloud.  
*  
News Item Hamburg WaddenSea  
Body of young female reportedly washed ashore near Hamburg WaddenSea. No identification was found, while a good description was not available, due to damage by water and sharks, victim had auburn hair, was probably in her late teens or early twenties.If you have any information concerning the identify, please notify FrankeVeeDason at Hamburg WaddenSea.  
*  
His teammates looked toward Newkirk, dreading what they'd see in his face, dreading to deal with the grief they knew he would be feeling. Carter thought it had been good of Oscar to try to give them some hope, but between the report from London and the newspaper, well, he just didn't know how much hope there could be.They were astonished, every one of them, at the damp sparkle in the tall Englishman's eyes, the wide grin on his face.

"Bloody 'ell, she did it. She pulled the soddin' thing OFF!" and he let his head fall back, starting to laugh.>p>

LeBeau's eyes got big, "Pierre, Pierre, are you alright? What is it? What do you think you know?"

Andrew, who had wanted to cry when Kinch had read that story, already being halfway there after Hogan gave the report from London, put his hand on Newkirk's arm. "Peter, please, tell us!!" Kinch just waited, taking a deep breath; this didn't look like hysteria, this just looked like out and out relief, amazement.

Hogan waited, and when nothing came, no explanation, he cleared his throat, "Corporal, now would be a good time for some explaining," he said sternly. The look he got in return shook him; it wasn't one of comradeship, or of shared relief, or anything like that. If he hadn't known Peter better, he'd have described it as defiant exaltation, sort of a 'fuck you' mixed with a bit of 'take that, you ruddy wanker', neither of which look he was accustomed to receiving from anyone on his command crew, especially Peter.

With a twist of his jaw, Peter got his face under control, and the look was gone, as if it had never been. Now, the only expression was one of intense pleasure and amusement. "Frankie V, Frankie Valencia was, despite the Italian sounding name, a bloke from the East End; pretty much ran our part of it. Got into some trouble with the Dason brothers when they tried to take over 'is territory. Fought back, acourse, but they were too much for 'im; they weren't about to let'm get free and start up somewhere else either. See, ole Frankie had a bit of a reputation for payin' back three-times over anything what was done to 'im and 'is, so they needed 'im outta the picture permanent. They tried a couple a times, but Frankie slipped by em. Still, 'e knew they'd get 'im sooner or later and so did everyone else. The word got out that 'e'd be at 'is lady friend's summer cottage at this kinda outta the way place out in Ipswich. That's right up on the coastline, lots of straight drop offs and rocks, and you could stray just a bit from the cottage door and be standing neck deep in the North Sea if you weren't careful. There was a shootout, Frankie 'ad made his way to the shore, a bullet took 'im and 'e went in. By the time the others came up on the spot, sharks were everywhere, blood everywhere, and they knew better than to try and get the body; well, there weren't really much of a one to get by then."

They headed back to London, reported in that ole Frankie was really sleepin with the fishes, and the Dason brothers sat back and relaxed. Well, til they both woke up with their throats cut one fine morning, them and their top blokes, and by the next day, Frankie was back in business. See, seems 'e'd plotted the whole thing out, 'ad a fresh-killed pig all waiting on a little skiff, for when they were supposed to arrive and take 'im out. Led them down toward the sands, dumped the skiff and a little fresh blood to draw in the sharks, circled back to stage the whole 'oh, I'm shot' scene, and the final run back down to the shore, ducking into a little cutout spot you'd not know about if you 'adn't spent plenty of time there. By the time the Dason's boys got there, the sharks 'ad the water full of blood and all they could see would be them beasts tearing something to bloody bits."

He shook his head, chuckling with pride, "imagine 'er remembering that, after all this time!" He looked up at Andrew, "I expect she gained a few cuts and bruises, Andrew, difficult to pull something like this off and get off scot free, but with 'er sending us that story, she came outta it alright. Coo, that Brat!" and through the rest of the day and evening, while playing cards, doing all the bits and bobs of things that needed doing, they'd hear that chuckle and they knew he'd been remembering Frankie Valencia and the Brat. That night, for the first time in several, they all had a sound night's sleep. Well, except for Hogan, who was still frowning a bit, puzzling about that odd look Newkirk had given him.

 

Excerpt from letter from Caeide O'Donnell to Peter Newkirk

Dear Peter,

I hope this finds you and your friends well. I am doing fine; got a few cuts and bruises on a recent clean-up project but those are healing up nicely, and the project itself went very well. Made some new friends along the way, which was a great pleasure. Took a ride to the SunStone yesterday morning, saw a gathering of sharks below; seem we have more of them recently than I can remember from the past; interesting, even fascinating creatures they are, cunning and handsome, if undeniably dangerous, but occasionally useful, as long as you remember to use caution around them. 

Got sad word from London awhile ago; my cousin Reagana had a bad accident while on a business trip and drowned; she and I were always close, you may remember. Her employer was most sympathetic and kind; even offered to let one of the other members of the family take over her job, paying good money, but Grandmother decided that would be disrespectful to her memory. She is still planning what would be an appropriate memorial and tribute; I'm sure she will come up with something fitting. 

Estelle, Gracie, Angie, and all the rest are going along as usual; Estelle's puppies are due next month; she usually only has three and they all have homes already in place within the family, and it looks like Angie is going to give us another foal in a few months. I don't mind, of course, she throws off lovely ones, and she's a fine mother, but we've never actual bred her, you know, and I'd love to know who she's been meeting on the sly. Faithful to him, she is, though, same handsome lad, whoever he may be; Angie is a dappled chestnut, and every foal she's had has been a lovely bay, with dappled markings, and I'd have sworn there was no stallion in the area like that, nor has she gone missing for any length of time, though with her pasturing on the high fields in summer, that's not so easy to guarantee. 

The family gathering was held at Dalshie this year, and it was good seeing everyone again. Mom and Dad were there, and most of my brothers and sisters, though a couple were tied up on other projects and couldn't get away, lots of cousins, aunts, uncles, the lot. They all send their best, said to tell you they look forward to when you can join the festivities again. They said you should bring Andrew, Louie and James as well; they'd be most welcome. I've read them bits and pieces of your letters, I knew you wouldn't mind, and they say your friends seem like part of the family now. Dad said now he's heard Louie's opinion of bangers and mash, he'd be interested in getting his opinion of Aunt Lori's haggis, and he laughed. Well, I know Dad's opinion, and I think Louie's would probably be much the same! Though, lets not tell Aunt Lori, okay?! She actually considers haggis to be quite tempting! No, she's not odd in any other ways, just that one.

I've finished the plans for the new homestead; the materials are on hand for at least the first stage, and the work will begin next week on the main building and one of the new barns. It's ambitious, I have to admit, but Aunt Agnera and Aunt Kathleen began the planning, with Cousin Maeve adding her bit, and me thinking through the rest and pulling it together. A homestead, a home, a refuge, a sanctuary, a working farm, orchards, maybe some breeding of sheep with a better wool, a fine horse herd built mostly around Angie and her lot to start, all that and more are included, and while I will have to start small, there being just me and an occasional bit of help from the cousins, still, the plan is all in place for it to grow to what we've all dreamed it could be in the years to come. As you know, this homestead has been in place for a few hundred years, and we are looking at least as far into the future.

I'm still living in the old homestead cottage, of course, and will be til the new building is finished enough where I can send the workers on their way and do the rest of the work myself. The homestead cottage is small, three rooms, no windows to speak of except for the arrow slits, the one fireplace for heat and cooking, but it's been home to some or other of our family for many and many a year, and I'll keep it as a retreat cottage even after the bigger place is done, and may convert some of the many outbuildings for that purpose as well.

Still, as cold as it's been, and as snug as that old cottage is, I spent last night wandering the hills, finally settling down near the SunStone, and found the moon calling me to Vigil, though I'd not planned it, so there was no warm blanket or mug of hot tea there to comfort me. I made do with thoughts of other times and other places, and found myself quite warm enough, with the sweetness of my memories surrounding me like loving arms. The sight of the sun rising off the horizon, shining on the SunStone, the rays hitting the clear waters below the cliffs, seem to promise a better tomorrow, and I sincerely pray that be so. All my hopes and prayers do I send to you, as always. Go safely through the daytime, my dear Peter, go safely through the night, til you may return home again.

Always  
Caeide

**  
The Colonel and Newkirk were off meeting with the Underground, and Carter, LeBeau and Kinch were waiting up for them, as usual. It was hard even thinking about getting some sleep when part of the team was out there, maybe running into danger. Talk turned to Caeide, and how glad they were that she'd been able to make her way out of that situation, make it back home safely again. Her latest letter had buoyed their spirits, the not-quite-hidden messages had made them chuckle, and her mention of them, the mention of the welcome open to them, that had made them each smile. No one had mentioned that the welcome had mentioned only them, had not included Hogan; no one would have thought it would have anyway. It didn't matter, Hogan made it a point not to be in the room when her letters were being read anymore. 

Andrew, his thoughts going back to that time, realized the time had come, "guys, I'll talk to Peter later, but for now, I need to give you this. Don't keep it anywhere the Krauts can find it." He went to a loose piece of wood at the back of the empty bunk and pulled out a spare transmitter, like the one Caeide had brought and had them use to reach her family, and some slips of paper. Handing over the transmitter, he said, "Kinch, put that someplace safe, but let all of us know where it is, and when you can, as soon as possible, show us how to attach it." He handed out two pieces of paper. LeBeau looked at his with a frown, a couple of names and addresses, a couple of frequencies, and one longish word or phrase in a language he didn't know. He raised his brows in question.

"It's how we can contact Caeide, her family, if we really need help and London doesn't come through for us. That last, that's where she is - Haven, Conwyddn ap Moran, Wales. If we need her, need help, need a place to go, now, or later, we are welcome."

Kinch was looking very serious, "and does the Colonel get this information, too?"

Andrew was very quiet, "she left that up to us; he knows about the one transmitter that is in the radio room; she did ask that we keep this one," he paused, trying to think of a better word than 'secret', knowing they shouldn't probably be keeping secrets from their commanding officer, then he brightened, "keep this one in reserve, that's it, in reserve for emergencies." They talked back and forth, not really coming to a decision about what to tell the Colonel, and they were starting to check their watches, thinking the Colonel and Newkirk should be back soon. 

Kinch went below to listen for the guys, and to listen for radio transmissions, leaving Louie and Andrew at the table alone.

"Andre, you are looking very sad. What is it?"

"I was just thinking about when she was here, how the Colonel didn't seem to want to give them any time to be together. Boy, if it was someone I was friends with, someone I was that close to, and they were here, just for a little bit, never knowing what could happen, what with the war and all, it would have meant everything to me to spend time with them. Why couldn't he have let them have that, Louie?"

LeBeau looked at Andrew, with his so sad, so serious face, and sighed, "Andre, . . ." but to LeBeau's relief, the signal was given and the bunk started coming up, letting the guys back up from the tunnel, another mission successfully completed. LeBeau was glad they were back, was glad the mission was successful, and very, very glad he hadn't had to explain to Andrew just why Hogan had behaved as he had.

Andrew had a certain deep-seated innocence, an equally staunch goodness and belief in his teammates and their commander, and it would do no good to do anything to sway any of that. LeBeau, well, he was French, he had a good grasp of the wide range of emotions a person was capable of, and equally that even in a good person, some darkness could dwell, and while he was saddened, he was pragmatic, and besides, the important thing now was to continue the fight for LaBelleFrance and for his teammates. Still, when this was all over, he hoped with all his heart that Pierre would find his way to Haven, to the welcome waiting there.


End file.
